


Whispers in the Dark

by IronSparrow99



Series: Tales of a Marauderette [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (kinda), AU Prisoner of Azkaban, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Harry Has a Twin, Original Characters - Freeform, it may be confusing at first but all will be explained
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:01:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronSparrow99/pseuds/IronSparrow99
Summary: Meet Allison Potter. She's Harry Potter (aka The-Boy-Who-Lived)'s twin sister...kind of? It's a tad more complicated than that.When certain secrets - secrets that were supposed to have died twelve years before - come to light during her third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will Allison be able to cope? Will her relationships at Hogwarts survive? Will she be able to catch the infamous Sirius Black, the mass-murderer that supposedly wants her and Harry dead?





	1. Chapter One

My name is Allison Lily Potter.

I’m 13 years old, I hate (most of) my only living relatives, and I have a twin brother.

Did I mention that I’m a witch?

Yes, we do exist. No, my skin is not green, nor do I have warts or cackle…well, not most of the time anyways.

“BOY! GIRL! Get down here!”

I sigh as I prop myself on my elbows and look across the room to where my brother, Harry, was sitting on the mattress. “What did you do?”

“Why would I have done something, Ally? Why could _you_ have done something?”

“Because I know I haven’t,” I bite my lip worriedly as I push myself off the cot that was my bed and leave the room behind Harry and we both sprint down the stairs. If there’s one thing we’ve learned over the past twelve years since our parents, Lily and James, died and we came here, it’s this – when Uncle Vernon calls, you come. And you come quickly.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asks levelly while I wait just behind his shoulder.

“Don’t give me that cheek, boy! Now, I wanted to let you two freaks know that my sister, Marge, is coming over later tonight. Her train comes in at seven-“

I mentally groan; Aunt Marge was coming? She’s one of the Muggles – non-magical people – that hated anything abnormal, much like her brother.

And Harry and I are the textbook definition of ‘abnormal’.

“-and I want to go over a few things before she arrives. First, you won’t dare mouth off to Marge.”

“Okay,” Harry nods.

“I will when she does,” I mutter under my breath, but not without a fearful glance at Uncle Vernon.

“Second,” he continues, apparently not hearing me, “there will be absolutely no… _freakishness_ …while she is here, understand? You two had better behave yourselves!”

Harry nods obediently while I repeat my earlier statement, just a little louder.

“SHUT UP, YOU FREAKISH GIRL!” my Uncle bellows, and I take one step back as Harry shifts slightly to be in front of me.

“Vernon, calm down!” a shrill voice calls from the kitchen as Aunt Petunia rounds the corner, her thin, horse-like face cautious. For one, fleeting moment, I think she’s going to come to my rescue. “The neighbors might hear!”

Well, there went that hope.

Uncle Vernon glares at me for another moment before straightening up and looking very flustered. "Right, sorry dear. Anyways, you two have work to do! I don't want to see a spot or stain in this entire house!"

I stare at him for a second in shock before Aunt Petunia shrieks “Your Uncle told you to do something! Get on with it!”

I nod before shooting a quick look at my brother, who just gives me a weary shake of his head.

“Dudders, do you want to go to the train station?” Aunt Petunia asks sweetly.

“No,” my cousin, Dudley Dursley says simply before returning to the huge piece of triple chocolate cake he was inhaling.

And they wonder why he looks like a baby whale.

Uncle Vernon just smiles and claps a fat hand on his son’s equally fat shoulder and kisses his wife on the cheek before grabbing his coat and heading for the door. “Get to work, freaks!”

I sigh lightly as the front door closes.

Aunt Petunia just shoves a bucket of soapy water at me and gives Harry a sponge.

* * *

Five hours later, we have washed the kitchen, straightened all the bedrooms, scrubbed the bathrooms, and my hands were red and they stung, much like they would after a Stinging Hex.

I was back on my cot, reading a page in my charms book, absently twirling my wand – Ebony, twelve and a half inches, and dragon heartstring – between my fingers as I read about the Flame-Freezing spell for an essay while I kept one ear on the door.

Harry was across from me on his bed, Potions textbook open and a scroll next to him, quill in hand as he made a two-foot essay on the properties and uses of lacewing flies.

“Professor Snape’s a git,” he sighs.

"I know," I agree, looking up from Wendelin the Weird being burned over thirty times because, with the aid of the Flame-Freezing spell, she liked it. "But I don't think that'll change."

He sighs and grits his teeth as he puts the quill back to the parchment.

I flip a page in the book just as a scratching sound catches my attention. I look up to see a white owl hovering impatiently outside the window, another unrecognizable owl behind her. “Hedwig!”

Harry opens the window and his owl comes fluttering in, perching on his shoulder and nipping at his ear. I didn’t have an owl – I wanted one, but when Harry got Hedwig from Hagrid two years ago, I got a book on Ancient Mysteries.

It’s a nice book, but it’s not an owl.

Hedwig was carrying a copy of the most popular newspaper, the _Daily Prophet_ , four letters, and two book-sized packages while the other owl – probably hired as help – carried another load of packages.

Harry grabs the letters first, taking two and handing two to me.

_Dear Ally,_ the letter reads in a familiar neat scrawl,

_Happy Birthday!_

“Wait, it’s our birthday?”

My twin gives me a shocked look. “I guess so.”

“Well, then, happy birthday.”

“You too.”

_I hope you like what I sent you! Have you read the paper lately? Ron and his family have gone to Egypt! Oh, there so lucky! I bet they’re learning so much._

_I’m in France at the moment, and I’m learning some too. I’ve actually rewritten my History of Magic essay to include some French magical history – and it went two rolls over what he asked. Do you think he’ll mind?_

_We’re going to be in London just before school, though, do you think you and Harry could come? Oh, I hope you can! If not, I’ll see you September 1_ _ st _ _aboard the train!_

_Love,_

Hermione

_P.S. - Percy’s Head Boy. That’s so exciting! I don’t think Ron’s pleased, though._

I laugh at the normalcy in her words – she doesn’t want to see Egypt, just learn, learn, and do some more learning.

The next letter’s a little more untidy and scattered, just like its author.

_Dear Ally,_

_Happy Birthday! How’s your summer been?_

_Mine’s been amazing! Did you see the article? Dad won the_ Daily Prophet _draw! Seven hundred galleons! Egypt's been cool – well, actually hot – and Bill's been taking us to old tombs. There's even one with a three-headed skeleton in it! Maybe that's Fluffy's owner?_

I let out a small laugh as I remember the three-headed dog from first year.

_Anyways, we’ll be back in London for supplies before school. I’m getting a new wand and Mum and Dad promised Percy some new books. Hope you can meet us there!_

_See you soon,_

Ron

_P.S. – Percy’s Head Boy, we just got the letter._

I laugh quietly as Harry sorts out the presents, handing two to me and starting on his first parcel.

I rip open the first package, which I learn is from Hermione, to reveal a small book, labeled _Unusual Talents among Magical Sort_ , with a note explaining that it had a piece on Parseltongue, which both Harry and I possess, and may or may not be related to the cause of our parent's deaths.

October 31st, 1981 – long story short, Voldemort showed up, my parents died – Dad died for me, Mum for Harry – and Harry got a scar on his forehead and I got one on my temple.

Anyways, we found out last year that both of us can speak to snakes, but that’s a story for another time entirely.

Ron gave me a book on Quidditch - the boy’s convinced that I have a hidden talent for flying (since my brother’s a natural) that I would discover if I only gave the sport a chance.

I have nothing against the sport, it’s fans, or it’s players, but I wanted to give myself a few years to get over the culture shock of suddenly finding out you’ve been lied to your entire life, magic does exist, and your parents were murdered, not the victims of a car crash.

I begin to stack my books under my bed, out of Aunt Petunia’s view, as Harry reaches for the last two packages.

I peek over his shoulder as he pulls out the small slip of paper that was tucked under the string.

_Dear Harry and Ally,_ it reads

_Happy Birthday! You may need there over the next year._

_Regards,_

_Hagrid._

Harry and I share a long, wary look before slowly turning our eyes to the two paper wrapped items. We knew Hagrid would never hurt us, of course, neither directly nor indirectly; but as much as I love the man, for he was my first friend in Magical England, he doesn’t have a very good definition of what is safe and what’s not.

I reach out a tentative hand, and the packages instantly go crazy, wriggling and snapping at my fingers. I fall backward with an "Eep!"

Harry steadies me as we both hold our breath, waiting for Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to come storming through the door.

They don’t, so we quickly turn our attention back to the snarling and clearly agitated package. “What do you think it is?” I breathe hesitantly.

“It’s from Hagrid, there’s no telling what it is or how life-threatening,” my brother reminds me, and I nod with a small shrug.

“Remind me to ask Charlie to send me a pair of dragon hide gloves, will you?”

Harry waves me off distractedly as he slowly creeps towards the package and swipes away most of the paper with one movement, the remnants being torn away by the book itself.

Because the book, appropriately named _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , was more beast than book. It snapped and bit using the opening of the book as a mouth.

"Why on earth would Hagrid think we would need this for school?" Harry asks incredulously as he scrambles backward, the book skittering about on its spine like some demented crab.

I just shrug and start looking for something to secure it with. My eyes land on one of Harry’s – and therefore Dudley’s – old belts, and I show it to my brother who nods and takes it from my hands.

We end up just straight forward tackling the books, wrapping the belt around the middles and stuffing them under our respective beds, leaving us on the floor panting.

And then the doorbell rings outside, followed by a bellowed “BOY! GIRL!”

Harry and I share an apprehensive look, already dreading the rest of our birthday night.

Aunt Marge was here.


	2. Chapter Two

Aunt Marge was not a pleasant person, let alone a pleasant woman.

She was as large as her brother, and I would bet money on the suspicion that she has a wispy mustache growing on her lip. Her face reminded me of the Bulldogs she bred for a living; vicious and flat out terrifying. For as long as I can remember, she’s only inflicted pain and suffering.

When she visited on Dudley’s fifth birthday, she whacked Harry in the sins with her walking cane (he had bruises the size of my palms for days) and I narrowly ducked a blow to the head for getting a little too close to my cousin’s huge cake.

On Dudley’s seventh birthday she did land a hit on me; one whack to my stomach that bruised massively and might have cracked a few ribs. She also set her bulldog, Ripper, on my brother.

The verbal insults started within the next year or so, once Harry and I could truly comprehend them. According to her, my father was an unemployed, drunken, and dangerous freak, and she then went on to call my mother things I don’t dare repeat.

Now I was celebrating my first night as a teenager with the lady.

“Vernon, dear, and Petunia!” I jump to avoid the door as its flung open, moving quickly under the weight of her fur trench coat as Harry grabs her bag and Aunt Marge greets her brother and sister-in-law. “How are you?”

“We’re well, Marge. How was the train ride?” Aunt Petunia asks politely as she goes to the kitchen to fix the tea.

“Wretched,” Marge sighs. “Ripper got sick.”

“Oh…that’s…unfortunate,” Aunt Petunia stammers uncertainly.

“It is, isn’t it?” Marge nods. “I would leave him with the others back home, but he pines so when I’m gone. Don’t you, dear? Yes, yes you do.”

I purse my lips as Aunt Marge makes disgusting kissy noises at the waddling dog. Aunt Petunia sees me looking and glares, waving me and my brother into the kitchen and making us prepare dinner.

Aunt Marge sees us as we pass through the room and gives us a dark look. “So, still here, are you?”

“Yes,” Harry deadpans and quickly leaves the room.

“Don’t say ‘yes’ to me in that ungrateful tone, boy! Damn good of my brother to take you in, if you ask me.” She turns to Uncle Vernon. “It’d be straight to an orphanage with them both if they’d been on _my_ doorstep.”

“Well then it’s a good thing we weren’t, isn’t it?” I grumble, quickly following my brother before anyone can comprehend what I said.

I grab a kitchen knife and help Harry prepare the salad – one that I know only half of the table’s occupants will eat – while Aunt Marge finally catches sight of her nephew. “Is that my Dudders? Hm? Is that my neffy poo? Come and say hello to your Auntie Marge.” She flashes a handful of coins, and Dudley tears his gaze away from his game to extend his hand obediently, and only after he pockets the change does he allow his aunt to hug him. I smirk at him over his shoulder, and his returning glare promises retribution.

I give a small dismissing shrug as I turn back to the half chopped onion in front of me. I bend down to grab a small bowl, but I must have moved too fast because the room suddenly tilts nauseatingly. Harry must’ve heard my sudden sharp breath, because I see him turn around and fix me with a concerned look. “Ally?”

“I’m fine,” I hiss, straightening up with the bowl in hand, “just moved too fast is all.”

He frowns at me. “If you say so…”

I wave off his concerns as I begin constructing the salad and try to keep my hands steady, because I don’t truly know what just happened; I try to shove the dark conclusions (possession, Voldemort, Snape, sickness, flu…) out of my mind.

I was handling a large knife, after all, and it wouldn’t do any good to chop off a finger.

* * *

Dinner passes relatively smoothly, save for the barely concealed barbs at my brother and me along with opinions on what might have made us ‘delinquents’. As Harry and I clear the table, Uncle Vernon pulls out the brandy and pours his sister a glass.

“A little more…a little more…ah, there’s the ticket.” Aunt Marge hums contentedly as she downs a large gulp of the amber liquor.

I glance hesitantly at Uncle Vernon, hoping to escape upstairs, but one look says we’ll have to sit it out.

Aunt Marge smacks her lips loudly as she set down her glass, letting Ripper slurp out of the glass loudly. My lips twitch faintly in disgust as I watch this, and Aunt Marge catches me looking. “What are you smirking at? Where did you say you sent these two, Vernon?”

“St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurable Delinquents,” Uncle Vernon supplies quickly. “It’s a high rate facility.”

“Ah,” Marge nods. “Do they use the cane at St. Brutus’s, boy?”

I share a sly glance with my twin as Uncle Vernon glares at us darkly. “Oh, yes, of course,” Harry replies sarcastically.

“All the time,” I add for emphasis.

Aunt Marge looks satisfied. “Excellent. I won't have this namby-pamby wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it.” She takes another sip and looks at Uncle Vernon. “Still. Mustn't blame yourself for how this one's turned out, Vernon. It all comes down to blood. Bad blood will win out. What is it their father did, Petunia?”

Aunt Petunia shifts in her seat, looking distinctly uncomfortable as I raise a challenging eyebrow at her. “Nothing. Ah, that is, he was unemployed.”

I give a quiet snort – somehow I doubt that. My father probably had a job like ‘our lot’ would – that is, one the Dursleys don’t want to acknowledge.

Aunt Marge nods gravely. “Of course. And a drunk, I expect-“

“That’s a lie.”

I send a surprised look at my normally quiet brother, who had just snapped and was glaring at Aunt Marge.

“ _What did you just say?_ ” she hisses.

“He _said_ , that’s a lie,” I repeat, taking a brave step forward. “Our father was not a drunk!”

 _Pop!_ The shocked silence is punctuated by the glass in her hand shattering.

“Oh my goodness!” Aunt Petunia gasps dramatically. “Marge!”

“Not to worry, Petunia. I have a very firm grip,” Marge chuckles. “I did the same to Colonel Fubster’s glass the other day.”

As Aunt Petunia cleans up the shards, Harry and I share a startled glance. _Was that you?_ he mouths at me, and I shake my head. He worries his lips between his teeth as he stares at the glass. I turn back to go into the kitchen and cool down, but I’m stopped when everything tilts again.

I stumble and have to clutch the countertop to keep from falling, breathing in and out through my nose as a wave of nausea and heat washes over me and a ringing develops in my ears.

“Ally?” I hear a voice whisper in my ear. “Allison!”

I glance at Harry, whose bright emerald eyes were wide with slight panic. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think-“

“ _Fine_ , Harry.” My tone leaves no room for conversation as I continue into the living room to make a new batch of coffee as Harry lets out a long-suffering sigh behind me.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts as I start the coffee maker and pull out two mugs, one for Aunt Petunia, who liked hers with a dash of mint cream and frothy, and one for Uncle Vernon, who liked his coffee dark and spiked.

Meanwhile, Aunt Marge has recovered from the shock and is still ridiculing my parents.

“…quiet, Vernon. It’s not your fault; if there’s something wrong on the inside, you can’t fix it. You see it all the time with dogs. And it doesn't matter about the father, anyways. In the end, it comes down to the mother. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup...”

I whirl around, my blood boiling, as Harry snaps his head over to stare at Aunt Marge. “SHUT UP!” we both roar, finally fed up with her slander of our parents, who were _dead_ and couldn’t defend themselves.

Everything happens at once; there’s a low rumbling sound, followed by every single glass or porcelain item in the house breaking – all the glasses, the china, the windows; everything.

Then Aunt Marge’s hands begin to swell. Her cheeks puff out.

A button tears free of her cardigan and hits Dudley square in the forehead with a metallic ping, knocking him to the floor. Aunt Marge herself begins to swell, more buttons breaking free and flying all over the place as yet more glass explodes, embedding shards in the walls and ceiling.

Everyone watches, shocked, as Aunt Marge becomes fully round, like an over-inflated balloon, and lifts from her chair. “Vernon!”

Uncle Vernon chases after her as she bounces gently against the ceiling and rolls out to the backyard.

“MARGE!” Uncle Vernon grabs her hand to keep her from floating away, and Ripper growls and bites at his ankles.

Due to all the noise, Harry and I are allowed to slip unnoticed into the living room to stand by the back door.

We watch as Aunt Marge steadily floats upwards, Uncle Vernon holding both her hands but barely on the ground.

I see his hands slipping and the fear on his face ever before Aunt Marge starts screaming, “ _Vernon_.   Don't you dare –“

And then his grasp slips and he falls to his knees, horror on his face as he watches his sister float away.

My eyes instantly find my brother’s’ both of us sharing a looking of horror and fear before I turn on my heel to race back inside the house.

I meant to go up to our bedroom, but I come to a dead stop once I see the state of the kitchen.

Glass littered the floor, pots and pans were scattered everywhere, and some of the wooden cabinets were twisted beyond recognition. Aunt Petunia was still shrieking outside, Ripper was barking his head off, and Dudley was passed out under the table.

My blood goes cold for a second before I remember what caused the outburst in the first place – Aunt Marge.

Pure fury overtakes me as I remember what she had said about my parents, my brother, and me. I might not have known my parents very well, and I might not be able to remember a single thing about them, but I’m sure anyone in the wizarding world can attest that James Potter was _not_ a drunk, _not_ unemployed (I heard somewhere that he was an Auror) and that Lily Potter nee. Evans was an _angel_.

I gnash my teeth and let out a low growl as I stomp across the kitchen, my shoes crunching glass beneath their soles. I jog up the stairs, taking them two at a time before flinging open the door to the smallest bedroom in the house, the one I shared with Harry.

I quickly pack our trunks, haphazardly throwing books in and making the Monster books were still secured. I stomp my heel down onto a specific spot on the floor, causing one of the floorboards to flip up and reveal two wands, a photograph of our parents, and a black stuffed dog that was the only thing I could connect to my childhood. I put the picture and the dog into my trunk, grab my brother’s wand, slip my wand into my back pocket, and grab my trunk, dragging it down the stairs with loud repeated thumps.

I round the corner just in time to see Uncle Vernon let loose on Harry. “YOU BRING HER BACK! YOU BRING HER BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!”

 “No!” Harry shouts back defiantly.

“And even if we wanted to,” I cut in, stepping up behind my twin, “we couldn’t. We don’t exactly know how!”

“Well, you knew how to get her up there!” Uncle Vernon shouts, his face an ugly purple as his mustache quivers and a vein pops in his forehead. “So you _better_ bring her down!”

I sigh before replying, turning to hand Harry his holly-and-phoenix feather wand. “Here. Your trunk is packed and waiting.”

He just nods, takes his wand, and disappears upstairs as I turn back to my uncle. “I _better_? Or what?”

“Or… _or_ …or I’ll…!” He shakes a fist dangerously close to my face, and I instantly take a step back and draw my wand.

“You’ll _what_ , Dursley?” I ask him, my voice dropping to a dangerous calm, the way it always does when I’m just about to explode. I’ve been told – mainly by Ron – that seeing me like this is frankly terrifying; he says my eyes darken at least three shades, my voice sends shivers down spines, and that even a two-year-old wizard or witch could sense the magic pooling around me.

Uncle Vernon, however, just smirks smugly at me. “You're not allowed to do magic out of school. They won't have you now. You've got nowhere to go.”

I pause and lower my wand only slightly. “Well, at least it’s not _here_.”

Any response he might’ve had was interrupted by a series of loud thuds, and I turn to see my brother standing there, fury on his face and wand and owl in hand as he lets go of his trunk. “I’m packed.”

I nod sharply. “We were just finishing our…chat…down here. Let’s go.”

We both grab our trunks and head for the door.

“Where will you go?” Uncle Vernon taunts to our backs. “Nowhere to go for freaks like you two! Not even your freak house of a school!”

I just shake my head as I haul my trunk out the door and help Harry with his.

“BOY, GIRL, SO HELP ME…”

I pause once we’re out on the sidewalk, and Harry sends me an urgent look. “Ally, come on…”

I wave him off with a flap of a hand as I spin to face the house because I can’t stand one last jab. “Aunt Marge deserved what she got!”

Harry shakes his head and tugs me back to my trunk with a muttered “Not worth it.”

I glance back once more before grabbing my trunk, and Harry and I vanish into the night.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's so short, folks. But things are starting to happen! Tell me what you think?

Darkness doesn’t suit Privet Drive.

I think it has something to do with the stereotypical nature of the neighborhood; the perfect flower beds, the cookie cutter houses, the gossiping neighbors…it was practically Suburbia.

Which means that abnormal things, things that go bump in the night, didn’t fit that image at all and were generally disliked. People closed their shutters before the sun went down and dismissed all stories of monsters as hogwash and utter nonsense.

Harry and I were also shunned and denied; even if they did just think that we were delinquents and would never know the truth about House Number Four.

We didn’t fear the dark, which was a good thing because we were currently sitting in it, alone except for each other.

I sigh and gaze up at the sky as I use my trunk as a seat in the middle of Mongolia Crescent. “We didn’t think this through, did we?”

“No,” Harry confirms softly. “We didn’t.”

I sigh and rub at my eyes with a soft groan. “So…Aunt Marge…”

“Blew up. Along with the kitchen.”

“Did you do Aunt Marge or-“

“I think I did,” he nods slowly. “I just wanted her to _stop_ …and then…” he holds up his hands helplessly. “So you did the kitchen?”

“Yeah,” I chuckle dryly, “it appears that my anger is _slightly_ more destructive than yours.”

“Slightly?” Harry snorts. “You destroyed all of the glass. And the porcelain. _All of it._ ”

I give him a ‘what can you do’ shrug and run a hand through my hair. “Where do we go from here?”

Harry looks thoughtful for a moment. “I think we need to get to Diagon Alley. The Leaky Cauldron usually has rooms, and we need money from Gringotts if we’re going on the run.”

I stare at him for a moment as I realize the scope of what happened – mainly, we did _magic._ Harry and I, both thirteen and still underage, did magic outside of Hogwarts. We had already been warned a year prior because Dobby the house elf did magic (long story), and if the Ministry found out about these latest events we would be in serious trouble.

I hiss out a breath. “Right then. How do we get to London?”

“Well…we could…no, that won’t work for both of us. What if we…”

A slight crackle draws my attention, and I whip around with my hand on my wand. “Harry.”

“What if we could…”

“ _Harry_.”

“Could we-“

“Harry Potter!” I hiss and my brother finally looks at me.

“What?”

I nod my head towards the opposite sidewalk, and we share a glance before Harry draws his wand and mutters “ _Lumos._ ”

A blinding light burst out of the tip of his wand, and I raise a hand to shield my eyes as I blink quickly.

I can’t see anything across the street, but the noise had to come from _somewhere_ , right?

“Ally, look!” my brother gasps as he points at something in the shadows.

My gaze follows his finger until it lands on a pair of gleaming orbs – eyes. Animal’s eyes, from the looks of things, because only they can reflect light like that.

Harry moves into a defensive position, a spell waiting on his tongue, but I put a hand on his arm to stop.

Ignoring his questioning gaze, I narrow my eyes at the _something_ across the street. Something deep inside me was stirring as I stood there, something in the dark recess was whispering, urging me to get closer… _closer_ …

I shake my head, remembering Hermione’s words from last year – _hearing voices wasn’t good, even in the wizarding world._

“Ally?” my twin’s worried voice breaks through my thoughts.

I glance back across the street and the eyes are gone. “Nothing, Harry. It was nothing.”

Everything is silent for a moment, just the two of us standing there, in the dark, with trunks full of spell books and an owl.

A clatter sounds down the street, causing both Harry and I to jump suddenly. I stumble backward and fall back over my trunk, ending up splayed over it while Harry trips over his, sending his sprawling and his wand flying into the bushes.

Suddenly there’s a deafening crack and two beams of light appear in the night. Headlights, to be precise, which were attached to a bus. _The Knight Bus_ , it reads.

I give it one glance before jogging off to search the bushes for Harry’s wand.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus,” I hear a weary voice say behind me, “Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening.” There’s a pause. “Wha' choo doin' down there?”

“I fell over,” Harry replies defensively.

“Wha’ choo fall over for?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he grumbles, and there’s a shuffling sound as he regains his feet.

I spot his wand in the dirt and grab it, wiping it off with the hem of my t-shirt before I jog back over to my brother. “Here you go.”

He takes it and we both grab our trunks as Stan, the conductor and a very pale looking man that couldn’t have been a few years older than us, waves us inside the bus. “Well come on then. Don’t wait for the grass to grow.”

I grab my trunk and follow Harry into the bus.

And I’m…surprised, I think, is the best word for it.

There aren’t any seats, just beds, and only a few are occupied. But the smaller details catch my eye: the brass needs polishing, the curtains look moth-eaten, and there’s a shrunken head hanging from the rearview mirror.

The driver is just staring off into space, sweat staining his shirt as he mumbles to himself.

I barely suppress a shudder as Stan leads us past an old disheveled, dreaming wizard – “Not _now_ , I’m picking slugs,” – and to a pair of bunk beds. “You two can take these. Where to this evenin’?”

“The Leaky Cauldron,” I inform him as I shove my trunk out of the way and clamber onto the top bunk as Stan settles and flicks open a newspaper. I squint at the front cover – a moving photograph of a man that looks incredibly deranged, snarling at the camera as he holds up an Azkaban prisoner ID number plaque.

While the expression on his face scares me, something else makes me stare at the picture. The man looks familiar, like I’ve seen him somewhere before but I can’t remember where exactly.

I’m about to ask who he is when another wave of dizziness and nausea, this one the worst so far, hits me. I breathe through a clenched jaw as I curl into my bed.

“…that?” I return to reality in time to hear Harry question Stan.

“That’s Sirius Black. Don’ tell me you ne’er heard o’ Sirius Black?”

Harry and I shake our heads, my curiosity only peaking.

“Why should I have heard of him?” I question, and Stan blinks at me in shock.

“A murderer, he is. Got ‘imself locked up in Azkaban for it.”

I resume staring at the man in the photograph as Harry carries on with the questioning. “How did he escape?”

“Tha's the question, isn't it? He's the firs' that's done it. Gives me the collywobbles thinking he's out there, though, I'll tell you that. Big supporter of You-Know-'Oo, Black was. Reckon you heard o' him.”

I give a humorless laugh that sounds a bit like a bark. “You could say that.”

Suddenly the bus lurches and all the beds, with people still on them, are sent sliding every which way.

I groan as I steady myself and wait for the room to stop spinning. I glance down at Harry who was fixing his glasses and picking himself up off the floor. “What was that?”

“Don’t ask me – whoa!”

I look up to the front of the bus just in time to see two double decker buses not even six inches apart headed our way. Before I can scream, though, the bus driver – Ernie I think – presses a button and the bus squishes together and zips between the buses.

I let out a breath as the bus returns to normal, the shrunken head in the front groaning about how much he hates that part.

I can’t blame the guy…or girl.

Soon enough, though, we arrive at the Leaky Cauldron, stopping in front of a car and just kissing the bumper enough to make the alarm blare.

Stan helps Harry and I drag our trunks and Hedwig off the bus, zooming away as soon the doors swish closed behind us.

I straighten my clothes and attempt to tame my hair as a voice sounds behind us. “Mr. and Miss Potter, finally.”

I spin to face Tom, the barkeep here. “Hello.”

He nods and silences the car alarm with the flick of a wand, leading us inside the pub.

There aren’t many people here tonight, save for a road-weary man that sits with a self-stirring cup of coffee.

Tom leads us inside, showing us to a room with two twin beds inside. “Here you are, then. Breakfast in the morning.”

He leaves with that, and I drag my trunk over to one of the beds, collapsing onto it and not even bothering to change as my eyelids droop.

I push all thoughts of Sirius Black: escaped mass-murderer, and why I seem to recognize him, out of my mind as I fall into sleep’s embrace.

 


	4. Chapter Four

“Minister Fudge.” I nod curtly as I look across the table at the short, slightly pudgy man in a pinstripe suit.

“Miss Potter,” The Minter of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, grins back at me, then looks to my left, at my brother. “Mister Potter.” He waves Tom over and requests a pot of tea and some crumpets as he sits down. “Well then, where shall we start?”

“Aunt Marge?” Harry suggests.

Fudge nods as he pours three cups of tea out. “Eat, you two, you look about dead on your feet. Anyhow, we have dealt with the situation with your Aunt. A few People from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad were dispatched to Privet Drive and were about to locate and deflate Miss Dursley, leaving no memory of the incident.”

Harry seems to be speechless, just gaping across the table, so I pick up his slack. “Accidental Magic, sir?”

“Ah, yes. Have you heard of it, Miss Potter?”

“Slightly,” I admit, “but only in books, really.”

He nods. “That’s to be expected from someone of your upbringing. Accidental magic, Allison, is common in young children or even in mature adults in times of extreme emotion. It is essentially raw magic bursting out subconsciously, and the effects are usually harmless.”

I sip my tea as I consider this. “So we’re not going to get in trouble for this?”

“Oh, heavens no! We can’t throw someone in jail every single time they have an accident! Plus, I doubt this is the first time you two have done something of this nature, given your parents’ power,” he reminds us.

I’m suddenly reminded of all the times Harry and I had done ‘freakish’ stuff before we turned eleven. Harry turning his teacher’s hair blue, me making a rubber ball bounce without assistance, Harry’s hair growing back, hideous haircut after hideous haircut; then more recently – Harry vanishing the glass at the zoo, the time just before we started first year when I kicked Dudley from across the room…

I share a glance with Harry. _None of it was our fault!_

My anger at the Dursleys’ spikes as I turn back to the Minister. “Right. So you found Aunt Marge, the magic wasn’t our fault…anything else, sir?”

“You both threw up a big fuss, running like that! Especially under these…circumstances…”

“You mean Black,” Harry supplies bluntly.

Fudge nods. “Yes. With an escaped convict on the loose, you two could have been injured.”

I don’t mention that we could have been injured had we stayed put as well, given the nasty shade of purple Uncle Vernon’s face was when we walked out. “We understand, Minister, and we apologize, but we couldn’t stay there, not with what was happening.”

“Yes, well, I explained the circumstances to them, and they’re willing to take you both back next summer if you agree to stay at school for the spring and winter holidays.”

“We do that anyways,” I r=tell him, just as Harry informs him “We don’t ever want to go back.”

Fudge grins at us, much like a favorite uncle would.

(He was not my uncle, and I was slightly creeped out by this.)

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll change your mind once your anger has a chance to settle. So if that’s all, I will say my goodbyes. I do have business to attend to, after all.”

We both shake hands with the Minister before he walks out of the room, leaving Harry and me alone.

“So,” I grin at my twin. “Now that we’re not getting arrested or expelled, whatever shall we do with weeks of precious freedom?”

“Go supplies shopping, for one. We need new books for Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, you need your robes lengthened, and we both need new potions ingredients.”

“Fine,” I pout. “Spoil all my fun.”

* * *

I did end up admitting that supply shopping was a necessity, though, so all throughout the week Harry and I would stroll down Diagon Alley, popping into a new store each day for a different item.

“What do we need today?”

Harry pulls out his book list and unfolds it as I peer over his shoulder. “Uh, _Unfogging_ _the_ _Future_ by Cassandra Vablatsky, _Intermediate Transfiguration,_ and _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3_. Two copies each.”

“Off to Flourish and Botts, then!”

We quickly arrive at the bookstore, passing Neville Longbottom – a fellow Gryffindor third year that was getting reamed out by his force-of-nature grandmother – along the way.

“Hogwarts kids?” the shopkeeper asks as soon as we step in the door, and we nod. He sighs wearily before waving for us to follow as he walks to the back of the store.

I watch as we approach a huge cage filled with books that were snark=ling and biting at each other, pages flying everywhere. The shopkeeper groans quietly as he puts on a pair of tough, leather gloves and reaches for a walking stick for defense.

“That’s not necessary,” I inform him quickly, “we already have two.”

The poor guy looks he’s about to cry with relief. “Oh, thank goodness…and I thought we had it bad with the _Invisible Book of Invisibility_ …we never did find them…so, do you need anything else?”

Harry nods and hands him the booklist, and within ten minutes we were walking out with our new textbooks.

“I can’t wait to read the new Defense book, maybe we’ll finally have a competent teacher!” I tell Harry as we walk back down the Alley.

“Maybe,” he chuckles at my excitement, “but I doubt they’ll last long, they don’t seem to – what’s going on?”

I look over as he breaks off his sentence and find a large group of people gathered around Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“I don’t know, but come on!” I jog over, Harry just behind me, and duck and weave between throngs of people until we can see the window.

The broom in the window is breathtaking, with perfectly trimmed twigs, a handle I can see my reflection in, and _Firebolt_ engraved in gold calligraphy near the top of the handle.

I glance at the sign next to the broom.

_** The Firebolt **_

_This state-of-the-art racing broom sports a streamlined, superfine handle of ash, treated with a diamond-hard polish and hand-numbered with its own registration number. Each individually selected birch twig in the broom tail has been honed to aerodynamic perfection, giving the Firebolt unsurpassable balance and pinpoint precision. The Firebolt has an acceleration of 150 miles an hour in ten seconds and incorporates an unbreakable braking charm. Price on request._

I sigh as I turn and pull Harry away. “Come on, you’ve got a perfectly good Nimbus 2000 that hasn’t lost you a game yet. There is no good reason to empty your vault over that.”

“You’re right,” he sighs mournfully. “But it’s so pretty…”

“Well, you can dream. Let’s go, maybe we can find Ron and Hermione.”

We work our way back through the Alley, occasionally stopping to chat with other students we find and recognize along the way.

I’m about to give up hope and resign myself to seeing them September 1st on the train when I spot a head of flaming red head of hair next to a bushy brown one. “Found them! Come on!”

Harry and I walk over and are greeted quite enthusiastically by our two best friends.

“Did you really blow up your Aunt?” Ron asks excitedly by way of greeting.

“Ron!” Hermione scolds as I laugh. “I swear, you don’t have an ounce of tact. But in all seriousness, did you?”

“Yeah,” I admit, a grin still on my face. “The entire kitchen, too.”

Hermione looks at me oddly. “You say that like it’s something to be proud of.”

“Because it is!” Ron protests. “I can’t imagine what Mum would do to me if I blew up my aunt.”

“Anyways, the Minister let us off,” Harry explains. “I have no clue why.”

“It was an accident!” I exclaim at the same time as Ron chuckles, “It’s ‘cause you’re _you_.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Well, whatever the reason, just promise me you won’t let it happen again.”

I shake my head. “I can’t promise that, Hermione. Unless you’ve finally found out how to make people emotionless robots?” I raise an eyebrow, and she shakes her head reluctantly, seeing my point.

“It’s just...you could’ve been hurt...or in trouble…”

I lean across the table to squeeze her wrist. “I know that. We’ll try and be more careful.” I glare at Harry, who had so far stayed silent. “Right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course we will,” he says hastily with a nervous grin. “So...do you have all your school supplies?”

Ron takes the abrupt change of subject in stride. “Yeah! We’ve been here all day. I got a new wand, too!” He pulls out a long, thin box and opens it, taking out a slightly longer wand that was a dusty tan color. “Willow, fourteen inches, and unicorn hair!”

“Aw, Ickle Ronniekins has his own wand!” I tease, and he glares at me. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”

“Anyway,” Hermione sighs exasperatedly, “did you see those new Monster books? I thought the shopkeeper would cry.”

“Hagrid sent us two already for our birthday,” Harry explains. “So is that all?”

Hermione glances at her purse. “Well, I still have about ten Galleons left. It’s my birthday in September, and my parents gave me a little extra money to buy a gift.”

“Is it gonna be another book?” Ron groans.

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of a pet. I really want an owl. I mean, Harry’s got Hedwig and Ron has Errol-”

“Errol’s a family owl,” Ron corrects her. “I have Scabbers. And he needs a checkup.” He pulls his rat out of his pocket and lays him on the table. “I don’t think Egypt was for him.”

I glance at the old Weasley family rat, taking in his patchy fur, slightly drooped whiskers, and paw with a missing toe. He did look slightly worse for wear.

“There’s a shop right down there,” Harry says, pointing to our left. “Come on.”

We all gather our bags and trudge down the street, making our way to the Magical Menagerie.

The lady at the counter was busy when we walked in, so we browsed the selections for a while.

I eventually found myself wandering past the cats, toads, snakes, frogs, and rats and into the owl section, and I silently asked myself why I didn’t buy one already.

I had enough money, and it’s not like I would be wasting my money - owls have proven themselves extremely useful, and sometimes I wonder if Hedwig is closer to Harry than I am. Which is sad.

But, I remind myself, I also didn’t want to settle for any old owl. Hedwig was special; to this day, she’s the only snowy owl I have ever seen. I wanted something like that, something unique and new.

A yell tears me away from my thoughts, and I whirl around to see a huge ginger cat land on Ron’s head.

“Crookshanks, _no!_ ” the shopkeeper yells, but it’s too late. Scabbers is off the counter and out the door in a flash, Ron and Harry immediately running after him.

Hermione grabs the cat before it can get too far.

I walk over to the shopkeeper. “What was that?”

“That,” she sighs, “is Crookshanks. He’s part Kneazle, which makes him huge. He’s also very temperamental, which means nobody wants him.”

“Maybe.” I nod over at Hermione, who now had the lion-looking cat curled up in her arms. “I think he’s found someone.”

“Ally!” Hermione calls me over. “What do you think?”

“I thought you wanted an owl?” I walk over to get a closer look at the cat.

“Yeah, but...this one’s just…”

“The one?” I supply, and she nods gratefully. I take a long look at the cat.

He’s got scruffy ginger fur, big yellow eyes, and his face looks like he’s run into a brick wall one too many times, but it could be worse. “I suppose he’s alright. But what about Scabbers?”

“It won’t be a problem,” she assures me confidently. “Crookshanks will be in our dormitory, Scabbers will be in theirs. No big deal. Now, are you getting anything, or should we go find them?”

“I didn’t find anything, no,” I reply, following her to the counter and standing by as she pays for her new cat.

We make our way back up the street, walking for about ten minutes before we bump into the boys.

“You bought that monster?!”

“Yes, Ronald, I did. And this monster has a name, you know!”

I chuckle slightly as we make our way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry and me lagging a few steps behind to listen to Ron and Hermione bicker.

“You let her get the cat?” Harry asks me with raised eyebrows, and I shake my head.

“Who was I to object? It’s her decision. Plus, you know her, if I were to tell her she can’t, she would, if only just on principle.”

“That’s true,” he admits, then glances at the pair ahead of us. “This is going to be interesting.”

“Yeah, it is.”

I don’t bother to ask if he’s talking about the Crookshanks vs. Scabbers debate, the mass murderer on the loose, or something else in the plethora of possibilities we have in front of us for ‘Things That Could Go Wrong This Year: 3rd Edition.'


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry if this story sucks so far, or seems to close to the actual events of PoA, but I promise the sequel - which I've got posted as a WIP on fanfic.net - is so much better, if you want to read it over there.

September 1st arrived with a sunny, cloudless morning and a boatload of chaos at the Leaky Cauldron.

I, for one, tried to at least fake sleep for as long as I could, but eventually, the noise of eight other people (seven of them redheads) stomping around near me made me peel myself out of bed. I blearily dig through my trunk for a moment, eventually pulling out a pair of old jeans.

I don’t find anything else that’s clean, though, so I just swipe one of my brother’s old Weasley sweaters – red with the Gryffindor lion on the front – and trudging my way down for breakfast.

“Are you sure that’s a cat? Looks more like a pig with hair if you ask me!”

“Oh that’s rich, coming from you – you own a used shoe brush!”

I roll my eyes as I make my way down the stairs and purposely walk between Ron and Hermione. “You’re arguing again? Lovely thing to hear first thing in the morning. Really, guys, thanks.”

They stop to look at me, slightly stunned.

Hermione finds her voice first. “Oh, hello, Ally. Good morning.”

“Mornin’ Hermione…” I interrupt myself with a yawn, “…are you excited?”

“Of course! Third years get new electives! I’m so excited for Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies…”

I give her an amused look as I grab a roll off the table and butter it. “Are you planning to, you know, do things like eat or sleep? At all?”

“And why would you need to take Muggle Studies anyways?” Ron asks, the earlier argument briefly forgotten. “You’re a Muggle-born! Your parents are Muggles!”

“Yes, but I wanted to see them from a different perspective!”

“Well, look at it this way: there’s _at least_ one class you won’t fail. And that’s minimum. Who do you think is teaching Defense?”

“Oh, I hope it’s someone good!” Ron says hopefully. “Lockhart was barmy!”

“He was _not_ -“

“Quit trying to defend him, Hermione-“

I sigh and shake my head as they dive into another bickering match, eventually wandering over to the Weasley matriarch, who was bustling around like a madwoman to make sure everyone had everything. “Do you need any help, Mrs. Weasley?”

“What? Oh, good morning, Allison dear!” she pauses for a moment to grin at me. “No, I have everything under control, don’t worry. Have you eaten enough?”

I smile at Ron’s mother because some things never change. “I was just on my way to grab more sausage. If Ron doesn’t eat it all, that is. I swear they’re nothing but stomach.”

“Oh, trust me, dear, I know,” she gives me a knowing smile. “I’ve raised a few. I’ll make sure Ginny rescues some potatoes for you, I know like them.”

I can’t help the slight heat that rises to my face even though I should be used to her caring nature by now. “Thank you.”

She just pats me on the shoulder and then rushes off to do something or other. I grab some sausages, just like I had said, and grab a seat at a nearby table.

Until a shuffling sound makes me look up into the face of Percy Weasley.

“Hello Allison, how are you this morning?” Percy asks with his usual air of dignity, still being the only person I know under 18 that refuses to call me by any variation of a nickname.

I roll my eyes at him. “Percy, would it kill you to call me by any nickname?”

He just sniffs and fusses with his horned. “Well…have you seen my Head Boy badge anywhere?”

“No, I don’t think I have. But it’ll turn up eventually, I’m sure.”

“I hope so,” he sighs anxiously. “Because if I don’t find it, then I don’t have my post! What if McGonagall says-“

“Well then!” I stand quickly, sensing a worried tirade coming. “It’s been nice visiting, good luck with your badge, I gotta go, bye!”

I beat a hasty retreat upstairs, both to get away from the third oldest Weasley and double check my trunk that I have everything.

I make sure I have textbooks for Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions, Divination, Astronomy, Herbology, History of Magic, and I rechecked the straps on my Care of Magical Creatures book for fear of it devouring everything else in my trunk.

I was really looking forward to a few subjects this year: Defense, depending on the teacher and Transfiguration, which I loved and I had read somewhere that my wand wood, Ebony, had an affinity for.

I make sure I’ve got my robes folded neatly before I slam my trunk closed, slowly tracing the A.L.P engraved on the top.

“Ally! Hurry up!” a voice calls up the stairs.

“I’m coming!” I call back. I grab my trunk and drag it out of the room, making a mental note to ask someone over 17 to put a feather-light charm on it later.

* * *

We arrive at the train station with not much trouble, given the sheer numbers of the group and the fact that we were all carry at least one trunk, Hermione had a cat carrier, and Percy and Harry had owls.

Of course Mrs. Weasley had to give us all tearful goodbyes, especially Ginny, after what happened last year. Fred and George made their usual promises to stay out of trouble with their fingers crossed behind their backs, Ron had to duck all attempts at motherly affection, and Percy had trotted off to greet Penelope Clearwater, a seventh year Ravenclaw and his girlfriend.

Mr. Weasley approached Harry and I while everyone else was busy getting their stuff on the train. “Allison, Harry, may I talk to you in private for a moment?”

I share a bewildered look with my twin, alarm bells going off in my head. “Sure…”

He leads us over to a secluded spot against the wall, a few feet away from the others. “There’s something you need to know before you get to school.”

I groan and let my head fall back to hit the brick wall behind it. “Is someone trying to kill us again?”

“Yes,” he deadpans, and I stare at him.

“I...was not expecting that answer.”

“In all seriousness…” he sighs. “Have either of you heard of Sirius Black?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, the mass murderer that escaped Azkaban. Why?”

Mr. Weasley suddenly looks distinctly uncomfortable. “They say...that...while Black was in Azkaban, he would be muttering “They’re at Hogwarts, They’re at Hogwarts,”. You can probably guess who he was talking about.”

“Us.” Harry looks confused. “But why would come looking for us, out of all people?”

“Could he be wanting revenge?” I guess hesitantly. “Finish...the job?”

Mr. Weasley. “He probably wants to kill the only two Potters remaining alive.”

“So cheerful,” I snort. “Really, it is.”

The Weasley patriarch gives me a stern glare. “I need you to swear not to do anything stupid this year.”

“Our _stupid_ acts usually save the school and maybe even the world,” I point out, and this time Harry glares at me.

“Do you have a serious bone in your body?”

I shrug noncommittally as Mr. Weasley sighs. “Enough. I need your word - both of you - that you will not go looking for Black.”

“Why would we go _looking_ for someone that wants to kill us?” Harry asks incredulously.

“You’ll see,” Mr. Weasley answers cryptically. “Swear to me.”

“I-”

“Arthur, hurry up!”

I give Mr. Weasley an apologetic look. “We’ll try, I promise. Come on, Harry!”


	6. Chapter Six

Harry and I slip onto the train just as the whistle starts to sound, quickly hunting down the compartment near the back where Hermione and Ron had planted themselves.

Harry gets straight to the point. “Hermione, Ron, I need you talk to you alone.”

“Okay,” Ron quickly agrees. “Ginny, get out.”

I can hear a scoff before a “Well _that’s_ nice,” and then the youngest Weasley steps out into the corridor.

“Ginny!” I squeal happily.

“Ally!” she beams at me. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Well, it’s not like we go to the same school or anything…ow!” I rub my shoulder mournfully where she’s just whacked it. “Don’t damage the merchandise!”

She rolls her eyes at me, giving the compartment door one last glance before we start moving away. “What do you think they’re talking about in there?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” I reply vaguely with a flap of a hand.

She glares at me. “You know something, don’t you?”

“Can’t tell you, sorry.”

“Ally!” she whines indignantly.

“Ginny!” I match her tone.

She narrows her eyes, her voice dropping almost an octave in what might be an imitation of her father at his sternest. “ _Allison._ ”

_“Ginevra_.”

She gives up all seriousness to stick her tongue out at me, and I copy her as we arrive in front of a compartment door and she stops to knock. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

A dreamy voice responds “Come in,” and Ginny pushes the door open. “Luna!”

“Hello Ginny,” a blonde girl with light blue eyes gives her a small grin over the top of the magazine she was holding upside down.

“Luna, this is Ally, a friend of mine,” Ginny gives me a small shove forward. “Ally, this is Luna Lovegood. She’s in my year, just Ravenclaw.”

“Nice to meet you,” Luna gives me a bright, albeit slightly dreamy, grin. “You wouldn’t happen to be Allison Potter, would you? The Girl Who Fought?”

I lean back against the doorframe. “So that’s what they’re calling me now?” Ginny shrugs apologetically. “But yeah, that’s me. Please tell me you don’t care about that.”

“Pleasure to meet you. And of course not. The Nargles like to judge based on character, not fame.”

I shot Ginny a confused look. _Nargles?_

_You’ll get used to it eventually,_ she mouths back, and I grin as I decide to sit down across from Luna. “Well, I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, it is,” she assures me.

I glance at her magazine. “What’re you reading?”

“It’s a magazine called the Quibbler. Daddy’s the editor.” She grabs another one out of her bag. “Want one.”

“Maybe later, thanks.”

She nods and I settle back to stare out the window at the rain and gloomy gray skies and listen to the wind howl and rattle against the train. “Is the weather supposed to be this bad?”

Ginny shrugs from next to Luna. “It’s still summer, maybe it’s just a daily storm.”

“Probably,” I nod. “So, Ginny, what-“

I’m cut off as the lights flicker a few times before finally dying out completely. 

“Guys!”

“Alright,” I can hear a voice from my left. “Stay here. I’m going to find out what’s going on.”

I can hear some shuffled steps before there’s a scraping sound and a surprised yelp, followed by a few thuds.

“Ginny?”

I perk up at the familiar voice. “Harry?”

“Ally? You here?”

“Right here,” I grope around for a moment.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“Oh, sorry Ron.”

“Who just kicked me?”

“Who’s that?”

I sigh. “Guys, meet Luna Lovegood, second year Ravenclaw. Luna, meet my brother Harry Potter and…”

“Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you.”

“Ron Weasley. Pleasure.”

“Okay, now that you’re all acquainted,” I call out into the darkness, “what the bloody hell is going on?”

“I don’t know!” Ron whines. “Don’t you think I’d be _doing_ something if I knew?”

“I’m not so sure of that, Ronald!” I snap. “I _am_ sure of the fact that you-“

A small squeak interrupts us. “Guys,” Ginny whimpers. “What was that?”

“What was _what_?”

A howling sound swept through the train – like wind, but inside. There was also an odd swishing sound.

“That.”

“I don’t know,” Ron soothes his sister, acting – for once – like the big brother he was. “Calm down, we’ll be alright.”

“We better be,” Hermione grumbles. “I need to talk to Professor Burbage about-“

She’s interrupted by a high-pitched scream echoing down the hallway, and my breath catches in my throat. “ _Guys_ -“

“What was-“

“Who-“

“I really-“

“ _Oh my god!_ ”

“ _Lumos_!”

An orb of light erupts from Hermione’s wand, showering us all in light and we all check each other over and relax slightly.

Until someone notices what’s in the doorway.

And now the scream is mine.

Because there’s something floating near the ceiling. It’s not like that’s an unusual occurrence around here, but this…

Whatever _this_ is, it’s got a long, black, tattered cloak covering a weirdly skeletal face (if you could call it that) that had no eyes, no nose, only a hole where the mouth is usually.

My eyes twitch downwards for a split second and I catch a glimpse of a hand. The skin looks like something that’s been dead and decaying for a long, _long_ time, all gray and wet looking…

The hood of the cloak shifts slightly and the thing takes in a long, breath, and I don’t think it’s only trying to get air.

A chill settles over all of us, and something inside me gets colder and colder, eventually feeling like my heart froze.

A small wail escapes my lips and my vision blurs as the thing floats closer to me, it’s mouth hole opened eagerly.

I can’t do anything as my vision goes black and the voices invade my head.

_“Padfoot, she looks just like you!”_

_“That’s kind of to be expected, Prongs.”_

_“I still don’t see how this is possible.”_

_“Shut it, Moony, some things aren’t scientifically explainable. The birth of Padlet is one of them.”_

The three voices fade, soon replaced by two of the same.

_“I still don’t see…”_

_“I’m sorry, Padfoot, I really am.”_

_“It’s alright, Prongs. I get it.”_

_“But I really wish this wasn’t necessary! We’re separating two people that should never have to be apart! I’ve got a bad feeling…”_

And they fade out and change again.

_“WHY?! WHY THEM? What did they ever do to you, you snake-faced creep!”_

_“Peter…”_

_“Rat…should’ve known…”_

_“No, no no no…”_

_“NEVER! WHY, WHY DID YOU DO IT?”_

_“I’m not insane…I’m not insane…”_

“Ally? Ally!”

“…Hermione?”

“You’re awake! Oh, thank Merlin!”

I accept her hand as she pulls me up, and I look around to see Ron helping Harry up off the floor and Ginny and Luna watching us with a stunned expression.

Harry looks dazed. “Who screamed?”

I shrug. “I couldn’t tell you. Hermione?”

“Um…nobody screamed. You both just sort of…fainted, and then starting twitching wildly.” She shivers, and Ginny loops an arm around her shoulders.

Harry and I share a look. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

I sigh. “So where did that thing go?”

Luna shrugs. “It was quite sudden, really. Someone was talking, then there was this silver light, and it was…gone. Do you think it was the Wrackspurts?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “The world may never know.”

Ron pokes his head out the door. “I think there’s a professor on the train!”

“What? Let me see!” I pick myself up off the floor and make my way over to the door.

“Did anyone else encounter a Dementor?” a soft male voice asked down the corridor.

I raise my hand. “Me, sir.”

He walks over to me and seems to study me for a moment before he hands me a small, silver object that I immediately recognize as a chocolate frog. "Ms. Potter."

I pause with the frog half unwrapped. "Who are you and how do you know my name?”

"My name is Professor Remus Lupin, I'm teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. I've tried to make it a habit to learn as many student names as I could."

I give the chocolate in my hands a suspicious look, and the Professor seems to guess my thoughts.

"Don't worry," he chuckles,"it's perfectly safe. I promise."

I hold his gaze for a moment before shrugging and unwrapping the frog, stuffing it in my mouth as I read the card. “Darn it,” I moan after I’ve swallowed. “I _always_ get this one. I already see enough of the guy all over the Common Room!”

Professor Lupin glances at my card of Godric Gryffindor. “So you’re a Gryffindor, then?”

“Mmhmm,” I nod. “And I’m proud of it.”

“They all are,” he nods. “Here, why don’t you go give these to your friends?” He holds out a handful of frogs.

I mentally count to make sure there’s enough before I nod. “I will. See you in class, Professor.”

“And you as well, Miss Potter.”

I slip back inside the compartment to find Hermione and Luna already in their robes, red and blue respectively.

“You’re looking much better,” Hermione praises appreciatively. “What did the trick?”

“Chocolate.” I hand out the chocolate frogs before grabbing a bundle of clothing from my trunk. “I’m going to go change into my robes, be right back.”

It doesn’t take that long to find a bathroom, and I quickly shed the Muggle clothing, quickly shrugging on the school uniform, including red and gold tie and red-lined robes with the Gryffindor crest. My shiny black shoes were a bit like flats, except they had a thicker sole, a closed-in top, and a shiny silver buckle on the outside of the ankle.

I quickly jog back to the corridor, where everyone was now robed and rushing around to get all off their stuff packed.

“Look out!”

I quickly move out of the way as a ginger blur streaks past me, followed by Hermione. I slide the compartment door closed so Crookshanks can’t get far.

“Thanks, Ally. Your trunk’s already in order.”

I nod at her in thanks as we feel the train grind and shudder to a stop.

We were here.

* * *

Before long, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were trudging up to the brilliant castle we called both home and school from September to June, Luna off with some members of her own house and Ginny with her yearmates.

“Well, well, well…”

I sigh at the usual drawl and slowly turn to face speaker, a boy with slicked back platinum blonde hair. “Malfoy.”

“Potter, Potterette, Weasel, Mudblood-“ we all snarl at that last word “-surprised you could make it back.”

“And why wouldn’t we?” I reply bravely.

He shrugs. “Well, two of you blew up a relative, and I’m surprised the Weasels could afford to come back.”

“I don’t know if you’ve read the paper recently,” I snap, “but anyone with half a brain would know that Mr. Weasley recently won a contest and found some income. _Clearly,_ you don’t fit those requirements.”

“Like you would know.”

“I happen to surround myself with intelligent people, unlike you,” I retort, my eyes sweeping over Crabbe and Goyle.

“Intelligent people?” Malfoy asks in an amused tone. “Is that what they’re calling it now? An airheaded ‘hero’, a few blood traitors, and a Mud-“

“Shut it, Malfoy,” I growl, “before you find your wand in a place where you don’t want it to be.”

“Oh, I’m so scared. Come on, I heard you _fainted_ when the Dementors even came close. How am I supposed to be scared of you?”

I growl and make a move forward, but a hand reaches out to grab my wrist and pull me back slightly.

“Come on, Ally, it’s not worth it.”

I sigh as Harry pulls me backward a few steps before shaking him off and brushing off my robes. “I just want to knock a little sense into his gleaming blonde head.”

“Don’t worry,” Ron assures me as we make our way up the front steps of the castle, “we all do.”

I grin at him as we find seats at our house table, exchanging greetings with other Gryffindors before Dumbledore clears his throat and attracts all of our attention.

“Welcome!” said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast...as you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.”

“They guard _Azkaban_?” I lean over to ask my brother in a whisper. “Remind me never to commit any crime of any sort.”

“No kidding.”

“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore continued, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — or even Invisibility Cloaks.”

Harry, Ron, and I glanced at each other with slightly apprehensive eyes.

“It is also not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I, therefore, warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors,” he said.

 I roll my eyes as Percy puffs out his chest.

“On a happier note, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

Harry and I are among those that clap the loudest.

“As to our second new appointment…well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his game keeping duties.”

The applause, led by Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, is exceptionally loud at the Gryffindor table.

“This explains so much!” I tell Hermione over the noise, and she nods in understanding. “I mean, really, a monster – literally – book!”

“Well, I think that’s everything of importance,” Dumbledore concludes. “Let the feast begin!”


	7. Chapter Seven

Dumbledore called Harry and I to his office on the fourth day of term, pulling me out of Transfiguration, where I had almost mastered making a frog into a teacup.

The only explanation he offered was a note.

_Mister and Miss Potter,_

_Please come and see me in my office immediately. Professor McGonagall has been informed and the necessary arrangements have been made for the completion of your assignments._

_Headmaster Dumbledore._

_P.S.: I like Blood Pops._

I look up from the note and at my brother as he grabs his bag. “What do you think he needs?”

Harry just shrugs. “We haven’t done anything relatively dangerous…yet.”

I grab my bag and follow him out of the classroom, giving Ron and Hermione what I hoped was a reassuring (not nervous) smile. “Well,” I muse as I catch up to my twin, “at least we know the password.”

He glances at the note in confusion. “What are Blood Pops?”

I shrug. “How would I know? I hope they’re artificial blood, though, or else I’m worried about our dear Professor.”

Harry says nothing in response, but I can see his lips twitch up slightly.

We eventually find the right gargoyle, and I give the paper one more glance before declaring “Blood Pops.”

It jumps aside, so I tuck the note into the pocket of my robes before leading the way up the winding staircase

Halfway up, I pause as my stomach suddenly flips and colored spots dance in front of my eyes. My stomach cramps and shivers, forcing to bend almost in half with pain and forcing me to brace myself against the cool stone wall next to me.

“Ally?” Harry asks softly, worry shading his tone as he kneels next to me. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I gasp as the pain slowly fades and my vision returns to normal, although a little blurrier than normal; I toss that off to needing a new prescription and remind myself to ask Madam Pomfrey about it. “I’m okay.”

“No, you aren’t,” he argues. “That’s the fourth time that’s happened in the last month, and they are getting worse."

“You don’t even know what it is,” I remind him as I resume climbing the stairs.

“Neither do you,” he grumbles but lets it go.

I knock softly on the door, waiting for a soft voice to call “Enter,” before nudging it open and stepping inside. “Professor Dumbledore.”

“Ah, Harry, Allison!” he waves us to the seats opposite his desk. “Please come sit.”

I settle into a chair, politely refusing a lemon drop and waiting for Harry to sit next to me before turning an expectant gaze on the headmaster.

He clears his throat. “Professor Lupin told me you two had taken ill on the train?”

“Yes, but he took care of it. Might I ask what happened, sir?”

He sighs and twists his hands in a gesture of apparent nervousness. “You were the subject of a Dementor attack.”

“You mentioned those in your speech,” Harry notices. “What are they?”

“ _They_ are the guards of Azkaban, the wizarding prison.”

“What do they do?”

“Dementors…they feed on souls. They’re meant to take the souls of the evil, dark prisoners, eventually either turning them insane or leaving them in a vegetative state.”

“So, a Dementor attack would be…” I break off and stare at Dumbledore in shock. “They tried to take our _souls_?!”

Dumbledore nods gravely.

“Hold on,” Harry cuts in. “All of our friends have souls too. How come they didn’t faint?”

“Because souls, for a large part, are comprised of memories. Your friends – Miss Granger, the Weasleys, and Miss Lovegood – all have happy memories; which means the Dementors don’t want their souls. You, on the other hand…”

“Only have memories of death and destruction,” I finish quietly. “Save for a few.”

Dumbledore nods. “This made the Dementors especially attracted to you two, unfortunately.”

Harry nods slowly. “But what about the screaming? I could swear I heard someone screaming…” I nod along with his statement.

The headmaster droops slightly. “That was…another _side effect_ , if you will. The Dementors also show your worst memory, forcing it to replay again and again inside your head until you go insane.”

I can’t help the shudder that makes its way down my back. _The prisoners have every right to go insane after that._

“And, as it turns out, Harry, Allison, your worst memory is the night Lily and James died. The screaming was most likely your mother-“

“But I didn’t hear that!” I protest, suddenly confused. “I heard two males, one was named Padfoot and the other was Prongs. Oh, and this one guy named Moony. They seemed happy, but the last scene was loud and mentioned someone named Peter, asking him why he did something…Professor?” I glance over to see Dumbledore suddenly very pale and showing his years. “What is it?”

"Allison..." he suddenly looks _very_ old. “There is something you should know."

"Okay..." I shift in my seat. "What's going on?"

Dumbledore sighs and looks everywhere besides my eyes. "I'm afraid I haven't been entirely truthful with you."

"About...what?"

"Who you are."

"Who I..." I crinkle my eyebrows. "I don't understand, sir."

"Can you tell me who you are?" I give him a strange look. "Humor an old man."

"Okay then. My name is Allison Lily Potter, I'm 13, I'm a witch attending my 3rd year at Hogwarts," I recite easily. "Anything else?"

"Parents?"

"James and Lily Potter, and you know they're dead, Professor."

He nods slowly, seemingly mulling over my answer before shaking his head. "I'm afraid you're wrong."

"What?"

"How is any of that _wrong_?" Harry exclaims from behind me, and I jump, having forgotten he was even there. "What else could it be?"

Dumbledore gives my brother a curious look. "Harry, don't you have a potions class to be in at the moment? I cannot imagine Professor Snape would be happy, should you be late."

"But-" Harry gives the headmaster and I incredulous glances. "I-but-you-"

"I'll be okay," I promise him softly. "Come on."

He gives me one last look before trudging out the door at a mournful pace.

"Now then," I turn back to Dumbledore. "You were in the middle of disproving my identity?"

"In a way, yes. I didn't think you would want many witnesses." He flicks his wand a piece of parchment appears on the desk in front of me. "That should do."

I glance down and read:

_My dear Orissa,_

_If you're reading this, it means your entire life has been somewhat of a lie. Sorry._

_You've been placed under some heavy concealment charms for the past thirteen years, and they should be wearing off by now. When they do, you'll be different. In a good way, but not what you're used to._

_This letter also means that I'm not...there. I'm most likely dead, and I heavily apologize for whatever stupid stunt I pulled and ended up killing me. Hopefully Prongs, Moony, or - heck- even Wormtail raised you happy. I've given this to Dumbledore under strict instructions to make sure you read this before anything changes, and I trust that he will find a reliable, trustworthy source to tell you the story of your existence._

_I'm sorry you had to hear this under these circumstances, but you need to know the truth. You need to have pride in who you are._

_Best wishes,_

_Your father._

I glance up at him. "Who's Orissa?"

The headmaster gives me a small smile. "That would be you, my dear."

I stare at the letter in shock before slowly meeting Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze. "Who am I?"

"Your full legal name, as it appears on your true birth certificate, is Orissa Andromeda...Black."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT TWIST! Ahahahaaa! Tell me what you think, feedback is life!


	8. Chapter 8

"Black?" I sputter. " _Black?!_ Any relation to the psycho chasing down me and my brother - Harry, I mean?"

Dumbledore nods gravely. "He is your father."

I stare at him for a moment in pure shock. My father wasn't James Potter, and he was an insane escaped convict that was hunting down Harry and me. I wasn't who I thought I was. All I had was a single letter, which explained only a few things, from a father I can't remember meeting.

Dumbledore gives me a patient, sympathetic look. "I'd expect you to have some questions."

"Yeah...um..." I consider this for a moment beforehand deciding to just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "What did he look like? You know, before he...went all..."

The headmaster nods in understanding. "I believe I may have a photograph of Mr. Black at a happier time in his life...ah, yes, here. Graduating year. You can keep it if you like."

He hands me a framed photograph, the bottom of the frame labeled _Sirius Black: Class of '78._

The picture depicts a young man, maybe seventeen, with black hair reaching about to the base of his neck. His hair looks glossy and soft, and extremely well cared for. His eyes are a beautiful dove grey color, sparkling with a mischievous gleam; it looked like he had something planned, you didn't know what it was, and he liked it that way. His huge, slightly smug smile didn't disagree with that conclusion.

His clothing was slightly ruffled, but it looked like it was on purpose. He was not wearing an outer robe, his shirt was untucked, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he was wearing a light grey unbuttoned suit vest and a red and gold tie.

_That means he was in Gryffindor,_ I muse. _I'm not sure if this makes me feel better or worse._

I give a small sigh as I look back up at the headmaster. "Sir, I look nothing like him."

Dumbledore nods. "There is that. I believe the letter mentioned something about concealment charms?"

I glance down at the paper in my lap and nod. "It did."

"And, if my memory serves correct, Professor Flitwick doesn't cover this until sixth year..." He fixes me with a curious stare. "Have you felt sick at all lately? Dizzy, nauseous, the like?"

I nod slowly. "Four or five times...I've just suddenly felt sick and really uncomfortable...why? Is there something wrong?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all," he assures me, "that is just your body rebelling against its artificial state. The concealment charms placed upon you, although highly advanced, were only meant to last thirteen years. They were set to disappear on the day you became a teenager."

I tilt my head. "But sir, my thirteenth birthday was more than a month ago. Right?"

"No, my dear, it wasn't." He grins at me. "Happy Birthday, Miss Black."

I have to remind myself not to react to the use of my true last name, knowing that I'll have to get used to it eventually. "September 5th?"

He nods. "That was the day you were officially born in 1980." I absorb this new information as he continues. "The charms were meant to wear off just before midnight tonight, but - now that you know the truth - I can release them early if you'd like."

"And this would mean me looking like...well, _me_?" He nods, and I gives this a moment of thought. "Okay. Do it, please. I need...I need to see what..."

"I understand, my dear." Dumbledore picks up his wand. "You may want to stay seated, it may hurt a bit."

I nod and grip the arms of the chair a little tighter. "Okay. I'm ready."

I close my eyes, hear Dumbledore chant something in what was probably Latin but unrecognizable to me, and then I wince because it feels like a giant punched me in the chest.

I can't breathe for a moment as my lungs adjust, my organs shifting slightly as my body is molded back into what it was so long ago. Then my head is hurting, my scalp burning as my hair morphs.

About five minutes of pain later, I'm left panting and sore, slouched in the chair. A warm chuckle reaches my ears. "You can open your eyes now."

I do so, blinking a few times. "Why is everything blurry?"

Dumbledore chuckles again. "Try removing your glasses, my dear."

I slide the slightly square brown frames off my face and set them on the desk in front of me. I blink again, and everything is sharper. "Wow."

He nods. "That's one of the minor changes. Take a look." He conjures a full-length mirror and I stretch as I position myself in front of it.

And I don't look me. Well, not old me, anyway.

My hair, previously a chocolate brown color and almost overwhelmingly so - like someone pressed too hard with a crayon when deciding my hair color - was now a glossy black, falling to about mid-neck in back and swept to the side in front. My eyes, previously _too_ green, were now the same soft gray as the portrait's, littered with tiny flecks of blue.

I was about two or three inches taller, and I had filled out slightly - I wasn't fat, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I was no longer scrawny, and I also had slightly more muscle definition.

I don't look like Allison Potter.

I looked like Orissa Black. And, despite the circumstances, I liked it.

I exhale slowly and turn to face the headmaster. "Sir?"

"Yes, Miss Black?"

"I, um, don't think I should go back to class. This might raise some questions."

"That is true," he concedes. "What do you plan to do?"

"Well, given that news travels faster than a Firebolt around here, everyone will most likely know the truth by morning. At the most. And I'll deal with that when it happens. But for now, I kind of need to absorb the fact that my entire life has been a lie and my only living relative is a mass-murderer."

He nods. "That's perfectly acceptable. I will inform the professors and let them excuse you for the rest of the day. Would you like me to tell anyone in advance?"

"Um..." I bite my lip. "Harry. You'll have to tell him t-that I'm not his twin. Or his sister. Merlin, we aren't even related."

"If it's any consolation, Miss Black, James was your godfather."

I shrug. "Mhm, it’s better than nothing. Professor?"

He grins at me. "Dismissed, my dear."

I give him a nod before turning on my heel and running out of the room, down the stairs, and to wherever my feet take me.

* * *

I eventually find a seat on the front steps of the school as I contemplate my new sense of reality.

All is quiet until a soft noise behind me makes me jump. "Ah! I didn't see you there, sir."

"It's quite alright," Professor Lupin reassures me. "Good afternoon, Miss...Black."

"So you know," I sigh. "How long have you known?"

"Well, seeing as I knew your father...about thirteen years."

I raise my eyebrows as he comes to sit next to me. "You knew my father?"

He nods. "Harry's too. Sirius, James, Peter and I were the best of friends in school."

I look at him for a moment. "Really?"

"Really," he nods again.

I fidget and focus my gaze on my shoes. "Can...um...Professor, can you tell me about him? I mean, you don't have to, but-"

"It's alright," he gently cuts off my ramble. "I would love to, Orissa."

I sit back, testing my new name out as he decides what to tell me.

"Sirius Black...let's see...well, to start, he believed he could do anything. There wasn't anything he could do if he actually applied himself to it. Which, mind you, took a little effort from the rest of us. He was so confident, too, and he had charm beyond belief. I couldn't tell if the professors loved him or hated him, though, because he was slightly insufferable."

I nod, a mental image slowly forming in my head. "He doesn't sound like it was easy to make friends with, though."

"But he was. When you were friends with him, he would do _anything_ for you. He, James, and Peter...they risked so much for each other. And me." I think I see his eyes water slightly, but then it's gone. "On the other hand, if you were his enemy, he was relentless. Pranking was his favorite method of attack, but I can remember a few fist fights too. That was another thing, he had an enormous temper. When it exploded, you should either run or stay, and stay only because he needed damage control."

"When you say 'exploded', do you mean literally?"

"Sometimes," he admits. "He was a very powerful wizard. Why?"

I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. "I, ah, don't know if you've heard, sir, but I sort of...blew up my Aunt- er, Petunia's kitchen."

Lupin frowns. "Petunia...Evans?"

"Dursley, she married. My mu - Lily's sister," I explain. "Why, sir?"

His frown deepens. "N-no reason. Anyways, back to your father. Any questions?"

I frown at the abrupt subject change, but I don't question it. "What house was he in?"

"Gryffindor. All four of us were."

"Did he play Quidditch?"

"Yeah, he was a fantastic Beater. James was a star Chaser and reserve Seeker."

"Best subject?"

"It was a toss between Defense and Ancient Runes."

"Really?"

"Really," he nods. "I had the same reaction. We all were the best at a few subjects: James had Transfiguration, Sirius had Ancient Runes and Defense, I loved History of Magic and Arithmancy, and Peter took Divination and Potions. We each got N.E.W.T.s in our respective subjects."

"That's smart," I admit. "I should do that."

"It worked out well."

I nod, trying to match the image I had in my head with the wanted posters. "Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome, Miss Black," he lifts himself off of the steps. "I trust I'll see you tomorrow for your first lesson in Defense?"

I nod up at him. "I look forward to it, sir."

And I really did. This professor actually seemed competent, and I didn't think he was hiding Voldemort anywhere.

He gives me a small smile before heading back into the castle, and I wait for a few seconds before following him.

I had less than a day to get used to being Orissa Black - to get used to being _me_ \- and I planned to make the most of it.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The night after Dumbledore’s big reveal, I didn't sleep at all; I was worried – almost to the point of an anxiety attack – over the reactions of the school when I stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast. Would they hate me? Probably. Would I be accused of helping my father escape? I had no clue. Would I be considered a danger to the school? I hoped not.

After tossing and turning restlessly for a while, I finally decide to give up on going to sleep and grab a pair of slippers as I make my way down the stairs that lead to the Common Room, hoping that the crackling fire would soothe my nerves a bit.

Although I soon realize that I won't be alone. "Hermione?"

She startles slightly, looking up from the thick book that was on her lap. "Al - wait, no, um..."

"Orissa," I supply. "Nice to meet you."

She laughs and pats the couch next to her. "What are you doing up?"

I shrug. "Nerves. I have to appear in front of the entire school today...it's like the freaking Inquisition!" I whine, collapsing dramatically onto the couch.

Hermione snorts as she marks her place in her book, closes it, and looks at me. "It won't be that bad."

"It will too!" I insist. "My father is _Sirius Black,_ the mass murderer! What if the entire school shuns me or something?"

"That isn't going to happen," she sighs exasperatedly. "Dumbledore won't let you face any repercussions for something you didn't do. And you still have friends, you know."

"Do I?" I ask her sarcastically. " _Allison Potter_ had friends."

"And Allison was really Orissa the entire time," she reminds me. "Your personality didn't change, just your looks. I like the change, by the way."

"Thanks. But still-"

"Have you ever heard the Muggle saying, 'the people that matter don't mind and the people that mind don't matter'?"

I blink at her. "Yes, once or twice."

She nods. "That's the way it's going to be."

I grin at her. "Thanks. What do you think about the whole situation?"

"Me? Personally?" I nod. "I'm a bit perturbed that you were lied to, but I'm not angry at anyone because it was probably done for a good reason. I think it'll be a good thing that you're really you now."

"And how did Ron and Harry take the news?"

"Harry is, of course, more than a little disturbed by the fact that you aren't, and never truly were, his sister, let alone his twin. But he promised to support you anyways. Ron, on the other hand...let's just say he's how the whole school knows."

"Let me guess," I groan, "he had to tell Percy, Fred, George, Ginny, his mom and dad..."

"And Lavender overheard him. She told Ernie McMillan, Marietta Edgecombe, and Pansy Parkinson. They told Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin respectively. Malfoy has not shut up about it. I swear, one more crack and I'll...I'll..."

"You'll what, 'Mione?" I tease her. "Revenge would mean breaking rules."

"Shut up," she grumbles. "Malfoy's a prat."

I nod my agreement quickly. "Duh. Whatever you're planning, he deserves it."

"I'm not planning anything!"

"Sure you're not, 'Mione."

"Shut up, 'Rissa."

.

"...I heard she knows where Azkaban is..."

I shudder and lift my bag higher onto my shoulder as Harry, Ron, Hermione and I pass the Ravenclaw table en route to our own. We had only stepped foot in the Great Hall not five minutes ago, but the whispers started as soon as they could see my face.

"D'you think she helped him escape?"

"Seriously," Ron grumbles. "It's only been one night! What, did they stay up all night to discuss conspiracy theories?"

I shrug as we find seats at the Gryffindor table and start serving ourselves. "Who knows?"

We eat in silence for about ten minutes before Ginny, Fred, and George plant themselves next to us. "So," Ginny asks loudly, "Orissa, did you hear about the Quidditch game coming up?"

I give her a grateful look. "I did indeed, Ginny. It's a shame that Bell left, we're going to miss her talent."

Once the whispers die down slightly, I continue in a normal tone of voice. "Seriously though, they need three chasers."

"I know," Ginny nods. "I was thinking of trying out, but only if nobody else does. I have too much to do already."

"Don't do it if you don't want to," Harry advises. "I'd rather we not play at all than have a Chaser collapse from exhaustion mid-game."

"Yeah, Ginnykins-" Fred adds.

"-can't have Mum send us another Howler," George finishes.

Ginny scowls at them both. "Nice to know you care."

They grin. "You're welcome!"

I roll my eyes at all of them before gaining a thoughtful expression. "Do you think I could do it?"

"You?" Everyone gives me incredulous looks. "Really? You? Miss I-Will-Never-Fly?" Fred asks.

I glare at him. "I told you, I needed adjustment time. I'd say I'm pretty well adjusted. And I need an outlet."

Ron looks like Christmas has come early. "I knew it! I knew it! I knew you would play one day!"

"Anyways," Hermione clears her throat, pointedly ignoring Ron, "do you think you could play Chaser?"

I give a half shrug. "I dunno. I mean, I'm fast, not afraid of physical altercation, and my hand-eye coordination is going to be loads better, now that I don't have to wear glasses."

"True," Harry agrees. "I would go for it. The worst Wood can do is say no."

"I'm not so sure of that, but I'll try. When are tryouts again?"

"Saturday afternoon-"

"-at eleven."

"I'll be there," I promise, leaning over to glance at Hermione's wrist watch. "Come on, it's a quarter till eight. We should probably be going."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron nod and gather their bags as Ginny groans before trudging off to History of Magic while the twins head to Transfiguration, whispering about something under their breath.

The four of us make our way to Charms, which was on the second floor, and I breathe a sigh of relief as we leave the whispers of the Great Hall behind.

We make it to Professor Flitwick's classroom just as the bell tolls and find our seats.

I'm incredibly thankful that he doesn't make a big deal about calling "Black, Orissa,", giving a stern look to a few kids that start talking excitedly before moving on. Once the last name is called, he groups us off, gives us each a rat, and starts us on our Enlargement charms.

I pull out my wand and flick it at my rat. " _Engorgio!_ " It shudders a bit but doesn't do anything else.

Hermione's rat grows a few centimeters before she starts talking. "Harry, why aren't you more stressed about Black hunting you down?"

Harry shrugs. " _Engorgio!_ I don't know, I'm just not that scared. I've faced Voldemort three times already."

"But Black's insane!" Ron counters. "And evil!"

"Hey!" I glare at him as my rat finally grows by about a quarter of its size. "Watch it. I don't call your dad evil."

"My dad didn't kill twelve Muggles with one spell."

"Yeah, how did that happen? Did he just wake up one day and decide to commit murder?"

Ron glances up at me. "You don't already know?"

I shake my head, and he sighs. "I don't want to tell this one..."

"I will," Hermione offers, and I nod after growing my rat another few centimeters.

" _Engorgio!_ " she flicks her wand again before clearing her throat. "During the first war, the Potters were on the front lines of the war. By their side, as usual, was James' best friend, Sirius Black. The Potters went into hiding just after your first birthday, Harry, and nobody even knew Orissa - Allison, then - existed until after Christmas of 1981. Anyways, your parents went into hiding and named Sirius their Secret Keeper. The only way someone could find them was if Sirius told them the location. That Halloween, You-Know-Who found them and, you know did...that, and afterward Black hunted down another friend of James, a man named Peter Pettigrew, presumably to finish the job. Pettigrew and Black dueled, and then Pettigrew screamed that Black had killed Lily and James just before an explosion rocked the street and Pettigrew, along with thirteen Muggles, died. All they found was a finger-"

"What?" I tilt my head. "Just _one_ finger?"

"Yeah."

"And that doesn't seem suspicious to anyone else?" I ask quietly, flicking my wand as my rat finally doubles in size. "The guy _blew up_ , and there was no blood or gore, just one finger?"

"...I don't know." Hermione says slowly. "But anyways, Black was just standing there, laughing. They carted him off to Azkaban the next morning."

"What did he say at his trial?"

Hermione looks confused. "What trial?"

"What?" I reel back in shock. "He didn't get a trial? That can't be legal!"

"The Ministry was busy-"

"I don't care!" I whisper-yell. "The Ministry sent my f-father to Azkaban without definite proof _of his guilt!_ " I jab my wand a little too hard, and there's a pop before my rat explodes everywhere. "Oh, ew...sorry, professor."

"That's alright, Miss Black." Flitwick quickly vanishes my mess. "You best get to your next class."

I nod and grab my bag, thoughts swirling in my head.

My dad and Harry's dad were best friends. How did one of them suddenly turn traitor?

Pettigrew exploded and left just one finger.

There was no trial, let alone a sentencing.

What _really_ happened that night?


End file.
